Philippa (7 page)

“Come,” said Bessie Blount the evening after Cecily’s departure. “We must have some amusement with the remaining gentlemen before we are off to the queen’s convent for the summer.” She handed Philippa a small goblet of wine.

“Where did you get this?” Philippa inquired.

“I stole it,” Bessie answered with a laugh. “It was some of that particularly fine Spanish Madeira wine Maria de Salinas left behind when she married last year. No one has used her rooms here at Richmond ever since. It was in a corner, on a shelf, in an alcove. It was obviously overlooked. I left it there until now. It would be a shame to waste it, and I think we need it considering the summer before us. God’s foot, I wish we were going with the king! Woodstock is so dull without him.”

Philippa downed the contents of the little goblet, and held it out for more. “ ’Tis good. I always wondered what this particular wine tasted like.” She sipped a bit more slowly on her second portion.

“Some of the lads are still here,” Bessie said. “I’m going to join them.’Tis probably the last time we’ll have the company of young men for a while. Would you like to come with me?”

“Who is here yet?” Philippa wanted to know.

“Roger Mildmay, Robert Parker, and Henry Standish,” Bessie said.

“Why not,” Philippa agreed. “I am already bored by the lack of lively company. I never thought I should miss even Millicent Langholme.”

Bessie laughed. “I know,” she said. “Come on then, and bring your goblet, for I am bringing the wine.” She stood and started out the door of the empty Maidens’ Chamber, turning to make certain that Philippa was behind her.

“Where are we going?” the younger girl wanted to know.

“To the top of the Canted Tower. No one will find us there,” Bessie said mischievously. “We don’t want to be caught dicing and drinking now, do we?”

“Nay,” Philippa agreed. She sipped from her goblet as they hurried along. The Spanish wine was so very good. It felt like sweet silk on her tongue.

They walked across the Middle Court, joined by the three young men as they went. The summer twilight lasted for hours, but they still carried a small lamp. The Canted Tower was four stories high. It was one hundred and twenty steps to the top. They made the climb, stopping now and again to giggle as the wine began to take its effect upon the two young women. The roof of the tower gave a fine view of the river and the countryside to the southwest of London. The roof was filled with azure and gold weather vanes adorned with the king’s arms. The men knelt, and began to dice. Soon both Bessie and Philippa joined them. The wine jug was passed around.

“I have no more money,” Philippa complained after a time. The dice had not been favorable to her this evening.

“Then let us bet with items of our clothing,” Henry Standish suggested, mischievously grinning.

“I’ll bet a slipper,” Philippa said, taking off her left shoe and tossing it into the center of their playing field. But soon she had lost her shoes, her stockings, and two sleeves. “Unlace my bodice for me, Bessie! My luck must turn soon,” she said. Bessie did not hesitate, and the bodice was shortly lost as well. Philippa began to struggle with the tapes holding her skirt up, but she was drunk now; and her fingers were clumsy.

Just as tipsy but a little more experienced, Bessie decided it might be wise to stop the younger girl from her rash action. The three young men were laughing uproariously. They, too, were half-undressed at this point. Only Elizabeth Blount seemed to be blessed with good fortune this evening. She had lost but two slippers.

Philippa began to sing a bawdy song she had heard in the stables one day, and her gentlemen companions joined in.

They collapsed laughing in a heap, delighted with their own drunken humor. Even Bessie was laughing, her hair undone and about her face.

“Hush, hush,” she said to them. “We shall be found out!”

“By whom?” Philippa demanded to know. “Everyone who might be fun except us has gone home to their own estates.”

“And why have you not gone home, my pretty maid?” Lord Robert Parker leered at her, his eyes going to her chemise, which was now open and revealing her breasts.

“To Cumbria? With naught but the company of sheep?” Philippa responded. “Even being closeted with the queen at Woodstock is better than that.”

“Cum-cum-Cumbria,” Lord Robert singsonged. “Poor Mistress Philippa! Who wants a lass with a Cumbrian estate and flocks of sheep?”

“Let’s have another drink!” Roger Mildmay said, taking a swig from the jug, and passing it around to his companions.

“I ... hic ... hate Cumbria!” Philippa declared. “Let’s dice, and see who will win my skirts. Or perhaps I can win back my bodice from you, Hal Standish.” She threw the bones, and then sighed, disappointed. “Well, have my skirt then. What is a bodice without its skirt?” She stood, and struggled with the garment’s tapes again. The skirt fell about her ankles.

“What the hell is going on up here?” a familiar voice roared, and the king stepped out onto the roof with Charles Brandon. His outraged glance swept the quintet of young courtiers. “Mildmay! Standish! Parker! Explain yourselves immediately.”

“We’re dicing, your majesty,” Philippa said tipsily. “And I can’t seem to win back my clothing. Luck is against me tonight, I fear. Hic!” And then she giggled.

Charles Brandon swallowed back his laughter. The girl was obviously drunk as a lord. “Hardly the proper young lady her mama was, eh, Hal?” he murmured low.

The king scowled. “Mistress Blount. You will help your companion back on with her garments, and then see that she goes to bed. And you will bring her to my privy chamber tomorrow morning after the mass. Is that understood?”

Elizabeth Blount was pale, and suddenly very sober. “Yes, your majesty,” she whispered low. She began gathering up Philippa’s discarded clothing and aiding her to dress, but Philippa was very drunk now. She began to sing about the cowherd and the milkmaid once again.

The king looked horrified. The three young men, also shocked into sobriety, struggled to restrain their hilarity, but when Charles Brandon burst into hearty guffaws they were unable to do so. The masculine laughter rang in the deepening twilight as it finally slipped into night. But when Philippa, hastily but fully clothed now, was pulled to her feet by Bessie Blount her legs gave way beneath her, and she slowly sank into a heap at the king’s feet, her auburn head using his boots as her pillow.

“So tired,” she murmured. “Tired. Hic!” And then in the sudden silence her actions had brought about they heard her begin to softly snore.

After a long moment in which no one seemed to be breathing, the king said in a weary voice, “Mildmay, take the little wench to her bed. Standish, you and Parker carry her down the stairs, then give her to Sir Roger. Mistress Blount, escort them, and you are both to remain in the Maidens’ Chamber until you bring Mistress Meredith to me in the morning. As for the three of you young gentlemen, you will return here where I will give you a lecture on the stars that can be seen tonight from this tower top. That way I can be certain that you are not in the Maidens’ Chamber. Mistress Blount, you will bar your door and I shall check it when I come down again. Do you all understand me? There will be no more nonsense here tonight. And as for you three gentlemen, I will expect you to be gone back to your own estates within the next two days. I am going to Esher, and you are not invited. Is that understood?”

“Yes, your majesty,” the trio chorused as one, looking very chastened already.

“You may come back at Christmas if you will,” the king continued, “but I do not wish to see you until then.”

“Yes, your majesty,” they said again. Then Lord Parker and Lord Standish picked Philippa up, one taking her feet, the other her shoulders. Followed by Sir Roger and Elizabeth Blount, they descended the Canted Tower with their burden.

Charles Brandon laughed again when one of the young men was heard to complain, “Jesu! The wench weighs more than I would have thought.” And another voice said, “ ’Tis deadweight, you fool!” The duke of Suffolk turned to his brother-in-law. “By God, Hal, Rosamund Bolton would have a fit if she knew how badly her daughter has behaved. What are you going to do?”

“The poor girl is heartbroken over the damned FitzHugh boy,” the king said. “And then Renfrew and his wife would not let her come to their daughter’s wedding for fear the Meredith lass’s sadness would spoil Cecily FitzHugh’s day, yet the two girls are the best of friends. I never expected that she would react in such a lewd manner. I must speak with the queen, although I believe I know what must be done.”

“And will you really make certain the Maidens’ Chamber is bolted and barred?” Charles Brandon teased the king.

“I will!” the king replied.

“Mistress Blount is a charming girl, isn’t she?” the duke of Suffolk noted.

“Aye,” the king answered him, and his gaze was thoughtful.

In the morning Philippa awoke with the worst headache she had ever had in all of her life. The morning light was hurtful. Her temples throbbed unbearably. She could barely move, but Bessie forced her from her bed. “I am going to die,” she insisted.

“Nay, you are going to get dressed, and we are going to mass. It is not like it is when all the girls and the other ladies are here. The queen will miss us if we do not appear. She can count those near to her right now on one hand.”

“What happened?” Philippa asked. “How did I get to bed, and in my shift?”

“Don’t you remember?” Bessie replied, grinning.

“Nay,” Philippa said, groaning faintly as she shook her head.

“You were gambling with your garments when you ran out of coins,” Bessie began. “Your luck was not running well last night. You lost your slippers and stockings. Both of your sleeves and your bodice. We sang bawdy songs, and drank a great deal. And then you lost your skirts as well.”

“I was only in my chemise?” Philippa looked horrified. “Oh, Jesu!”

“That was not the worst of it,” Bessie continued cheerfully. “The king came up to the roof of the Canted Tower with the duke of Suffolk to explore the heavens. He caught us. You sang him the same bawdy song with which you had earlier entertained us. He had me clothe you properly, and then before we might take our leave you collapsed, and fell asleep on his boots, snoring.”

“Ohh, sweet Mother Mary,” Philippa moaned. “I am ruined!” Her complexion looked almost pale green. “What happened next?” she asked nervously.

“The king had you carried downstairs to the Maidens’ Chamber. He told Roger and the others they were to go home and not come back until Christmas. He wants to see you after the mass in his privy chamber. I am to escort you there.”

“I am going to be sick,” Philippa said suddenly.

Bessie grabbed an empty chamber pot and, giving it to the younger girl, turned away as the sound of Philippa’s retching was heard. When it seemed as if all was well again she turned about. “We’re going to be late for the mass,” she said. “Rinse your mouth with rose water, and let us go. But whatever you do don’t drink any water right now. It will only make you vomit again. I’ll get you some wine later.”

“I will never drink wine again!” Philippa declared.

Bessie laughed. “Trust me. A bit of the hair of the dog who bit you will solve all of your problems. Well, perhaps not your headache.”

“I am going to die,” Philippa repeated. Then she rinsed her mouth, but she could not rid herself of the sour taste.

They hurried to the Chapel Royal, reaching it just as the queen was entering. Katherine turned, and looked at Philippa. Then turning away, shaking her head, she walked to her place. She knows, Philippa thought. Three years without a misstep, and now I have disgraced myself well and good. And all over a man who decided that he would prefer to be a priest rather than my husband. What was I thinking? Was I thinking at all? I don’t want to live at Friarsgate for the rest of my days. I want to stay here at court. What am I to do if I am sent away? I’ll never see Ceci again. Oh, damn! And all over Giles! I am a fool! A great and featherheaded booby. Oh, Lord! I think I’m going to be sick again, but I can’t. I just can’t! She swallowed back the bile in her throat, praying she might keep it down, and not embarrass herself further.

The mass was finally over and, escorted by Bessie Blount, Philippa made her way to the king’s privy chamber. The two girls stood waiting in the antechamber among petitioners and secretaries and foreign merchants seeking an audience with the king. Finally a page in the king’s livery came to fetch them.

“The king says that you may go, Mistress Blount,” he told Bessie, bowing politely to her. “Mistress Meredith is to follow me.”

“Good luck!” Bessie said, giving Philippa’s cold hand a quick squeeze, and then she hurried off to find her breakfast.

“This way, mistress,” the page said, leading her to a small door. He knocked upon it, and then flung the door open to usher her inside. Then he closed the door behind her.

“Come, my child,” she heard the queen’s voice say.

“Yes, come forward, Mistress Meredith, and explain to me your behavior of last night,” the king said sternly.

The royal couple were seated side by side behind an oak table before her. Philippa curtseyed, but she thought her head would fall off when she did. She swallowed hard, attempting to find her voice, and finally said, “There is no excuse for my wretched behavior, your majesty. But in my defense I can say I have never before acted in such a terrible manner, and I can assure your majesty that I never will again.”

“I should hope not, Philippa Meredith,” the queen said softly. “Your mama will be most upset to learn of this breach of good manners on your part.”